Elmar Tully
by TheKulthanOrder
Summary: Elmar Tully. Lord of Riverrun. Once but a simple politician, and now so changed. As events unfold and plots and magic reveals itself, can this one man keep the Riverlands from falling apart and cannibalizing itself? SI AU
1. He Awakens

_Do you truly think this will work?_

 _It must. The last one failed us._

 _Very well._

He awoke with a start, gasping for breath. He was in some sort of old timey themed room, with tapestries showing some sort of battle and candles being the only light in the room. He tried to remember who he was. Adam… something. He couldn't remember the rest of his name, but he looked about, examining his surroundings. The tapestries were written with Old English, showing a battle between a man with a fish on the top of his helm attacking some sort of knight or king with - he couldn't make it out all that well, but it appeared to be a stags antlers on his helm.

The next scene showed the stag man being attacked by a kraken helmed man as well, and the next scene showed him dead upon the ground. A lord with a red stallion rearing tried to grab a crown but the kraken man took the crown and placed it upon his helm. The final scene showed the Fish-lord, and the stallion lord looking displeased.

He heard shuffling down the hall and turned his attention to the stone doorway, where the great oaken door creaked open and a stooped fellow in grey robes with a chain about his neck looked in. He looked about fifty and a look of surprise, shock and confusion came over his face. "Lord Tully, you are... awake! I had, ah, feared you would die of your head injury."

He stroked his beard before continuing. "I must make sure your mental capacities are, ah, still in function. If you would kindly answer some questions for me, I can check for any signs of mental loss." He nodded his head, still trying to work this out. _Lord Tully? That's silly, this is probably a coma dream. I can't have just… teleported here._ The, ah, Maester, he would guess, continued.

"First, do you remember your first name?" the Maester looked on and awaited his answer.

"Uh, Adam?" he got a look of confusion from that.

"Lord Elmar, where are you getting Addam from? I fear the fall has damaged you." He stroked his beard again,

"Do you remember what year it is?" He thought again, but couldn't say. He racked his brain, trying to think. He looked at the tapestry, but that gave him no clues.

"No, uh, Maester." the man gave him _another_ look of shock and then muttered something under his breath, stroking his beard.

"Well, Lord Elmar, it is sixty-four years after the fall of Valyria. I will be back shortly, i need to speak with some people. Try getting some rest in that time, please."

He didn't rest. He mostly panicked. If this was a coma dream, he was in a coma which was awful in its own right. The second option is that he was dead and this was some sort of vision, and the final - and worst - option was that he had legitimately been teleported into the ASOIAF universe. But he couldn't be in a coma, could he? He was aware he was likely dreaming, didn't that mean he wouldn't be in a coma? Damn, he regretted forgetting all the lessons he learned in Psych. Wait, he remembered that! Things were coming back to him. His last name, he couldn't remember that, but he remembered the lessons he had learned in college. They were only bits and pieces right now, but he could recall things.

He wracked his brain some more. God, he had spent so many restless nights reading theories and essays and he couldn't remember them now. Wait, it was coming back. It was an essay on the history of the riverlands and how the River Kings failed.

He was in the middle of recalling the essay when the door creaked again, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Lord Elmar is in some sort of delirium, he doesn't remember anything. I had hoped that perhaps seeing his lady wife would help him remember some things."

He was watching the door now quite curiously. In entered the stooped Maester and a quite pretty woman. She looked no older than twenty-five and she had a worried look on her face. Her eyes were doe-like, a warm brown the same hazel color as her hair. _Thank you, coma dream, for not giving me an awful wife._ She frowned. "Elmar, do you recall anything at all?"

He thought of what to say. "Riverrun. I'm in Riverrun, in the Riverlands of… Westeros." She lit up them, with a grin.

"Thank the Seven above! Oh, you do remember something." She smiled wider, showing her pretty teeth. Then she turned to the Maester. "Maester Harwin, can he walk? I would like to take my husband for a walk by the Tumblestone, to try and help his memory."

The Maester stroked his beard and thought about it. "His legs will be weak, he has been unmoving for a fortnight. He will need a cane, but I think a good exercise will help his legs."

She nodded her head and then turned to him and reached out her arms. He grabbed them and she pulled, and he got up, his legs wobbling under his feet. It was a pain, but he carried through. And then, suddenly, the instant his feet moved he felt something pulling him, he felt his heart go almost downwards. But he tried to ignore it, mostly just attempting to keep his balance. He reached for the cane that Maester Harwin had brought and used it to support himself. His wife… God, he didn't even know her name. "My lady, I do not… I do not recall your name."

She looked at him with a frown. "I am Bessa Blackwood, Elmar. Have you forgotten everything, even… even your son's name?" He nodded his head dejectedly. She sighed and seemed to resign herself. "Your boy, Edmure, he's been asking after you. He wants to know what happened to his father, the poor child."

After that, they walked and she explained all she could. One of the things he noted was a small bend of the Tumblestone entered a hatch that he had not seen on the other side. He noted to himself to check that.

In the night, she left on a small garron and rode east, into the woods. There she met with a small man on a horse of his own, chewing sourleaf. He spit it out when she rode up and then looked at her. "Well? Did Lord Elmar, ah, have the unfortunate accident like was planned?"

She sighed. "No, Maester Harwin got cold feet, I think. He claims he put the poison in the Lord's bowl but he still awoke, albeit with amnesia. Thank the gods for that." She sighed and looked about, making sure no Tully guards were there.

"King Halleck will not be pleased. The arrangement was that you would kill Lord Elmar and the Blackwoods would gain Bracken lands. You did not fulfill your end of the deal, so the King will not fulfill his own." He spat then, a glob of blackish-red slime from the sourleaf.

"Gods damn you, Hallis. Gods damn you and your family!" She shouted before wheeling her garron about and returning to the castle. She unsaddled the garron post-haste, and swiftly returned to her bed-chambers, issuing a command to a guard before entering the bedchamber. She did not even notice the pale saddle-boy watching.

He awoke the next morning to a shout from some of the guards. He got up, feeling stiff as a board, and exited the bedchamber he had been placed in. He meandered through the solar, not stopping to examine the knick-nacks or fish themed candleholders or books stamped with a Tully sigil but instead exiting onto the balcony adjacent to the solar. He looked down and almost retched then. Lying on the ground, his head crushed like a melon, was Maester Harwin. _I'm not sure if this is a coma dream anymore._

 _A/N_

 _This is my second attempt at a SI story, after learning as much as I could from the mistakes of my previous story as well as reading up on AWOIAF lore and culture and such. I'll try to make it better this time. Thanks to all my fans, and please review, rate, and give constructive criticism._


	2. Capture and Failure

_Chapter 2_

He felt pale and clammy, looking down at the dead Maester. The Silent Sisters were at work, placing the shroud over him and moving him away. A knock on the door moved him from the silence and stillness he was holding.

In entered a Tully guard dressed in his scale armor, holding onto a stableboy's shoulder a bit forcefully. "He requested to see you, milord." He nodded and beckoned him away.

"Why are you here, boy?" He looked him over. He was pale-faced and quite worried looking. "Your lady wife, milord, she came back in the midst of the night on a garron, all in a huff. She ordered the death of… of Maester Harwin." He looked at the boy in shock and then turned away, composing himself. "Very well, leave my presence. You will be rewarded for your assistance." The boy left quickly and he called in a guard.

"What is it, milord?" The guard shuffled a little, his leather boots scuffing the ground. "My lady wife has killed Maester Harwin, it seems. I do not know yet, to be true, so I want you to take her to a holding cell." He gaped but nodded his head, calling for two other men to assist him.

He took a cup of spiced wine and mulled over it, taking short sips every now and then. He heard footsteps, pacing before a short rap on the door. He walked over to the door, reaching for the door before grabbing his sword and strapping it to his belt. It was clumsy but he felt like it was right. He opened the door and was met with an enraged guard swinging his sword. Unfortunately for the guard, his heavy broadsword got caught in the doorway. "Fucker!" He cried out as he unsheathed the longsword and slid it right through the man's chest, looking on in anger. He grunted and kicked the man backwards, looking at the corpse upon the floor. He grunted and wiped the sword off with a cloth embroidered with the Tully fish.

He grunted and muttered to himself. He kept his sword at hand and made his way downwards, his captain of guard joining him with three men. They entered the holding cells to find… ah, damn. She was gone. He heard a bellow out by the River Gate, which was quickly cut short. He nodded to his men and beckoned them to follow. He unsheathed his sword and grinned internally. He must have looked a fool with his doublet and pants and sword in hand, looking on oddly.

They moved swiftly and decisively, grunting as he made his way up the stairs. He pulled his sword and cut down one of the guards who was blocking his path, sword in hand. It had happened so fast, he just slashed with his sword and cut into the man's collarbone. He gurgled something and fell down. He continued on, muttering as he went. They exited the tower and were joined by twenty more men, cheering for Lord Tully. The Blackwood men had begun to falter, and he heard them whoop - likely they got Bess away. He kept his sword leveled. He hacked, he slashed, and with his men behind him, their morale boosted by his presence, they began to wipe out the Blackwood men. And then, it was over. He sighed with relief and called for ten horses, to search for her.

They got the horses and hounds ready and then prepared to march. The men bellowed aloud and they charged fiercely, but it was hard to continue. The terrain was getting muddier by the week, late summer rains and floods. He cursed and called off the hunt until the terrain was less muddy. The men grumbled and grunted, but they accepted. One commented that by the time the terrain was _less_ muddy, she would be surrounded by Blackwood guards.

He decided it was time to find where the small stream went. It had been bothering him and he just needed to know. He searched along the stones and found the small hatch. He tried to peer inside and grunted, not being able to see a thing. Then he nodded his head and entered the keep, searching.

He mentally tracked where the hatch lead. Then he placed his hands along the walls and searched. He felt the stone begin to give way and pushed more, sending stones tumbling to the floor. He elt along the wall and cursed, searching for a torch. He stopped and headed back, grabbing one from its brazier. He examined the wall, noting the strange runes traced along the wall. He couldn't read them, but he saw small pictures showing a… ah, a Tully wielding a hammer. He examined it closer and grunted, continuing along the way and looking at the pictures.

Then, he reached what appeared to be the end. This script was in the Common Tongue: ' _if you are looking for answers, searche no farther, for ye shall find naught but death beyond this point.'_ He almost turned and left, had he not noticed a fainter script. It was traced behind the letters, deeper. He began to speak aloud as he traced. ' _If ye are a Tully of Riverrun, speake the House words and insert the key given to all Tully Lords.'_ He looked on in shock and searched his pockets. He cursed mentally, pacing out. He walked to the Lord's Chambers and searched, he searched his deks, the drawer, he searched so many places. But he could not find it! Then he saw it.

A small brazier, stamped with the Tully sigil. He placed his hand on it and thought back to the engravement. He called out, "Family, Duty, Honor." and then the brazier opened. He saw a small key, very old and molded over. He pulled it out and picked at the moss, taking it off the end. He returned downstairs and entered the still open entrance, holding his hand on the wall along the way, key in palm. He held his torch and moved quietly. He found the entrance and searched for the keyhole, moving his hand along the keyhole and then placing the key inside. He turned the key and heard a mechanical whirr.

The stone door whirred again and then opened, and he held his arm above his eyes. The light was so Gods damn blinding. He entered as his eyes adjusted and searched the room for something, anything. He heard a stream trickle and looked about, he saw small lights like candles that were much brighter. It seemed like magic perhaps was increasing it? Or perhaps it was a basic electric thing? He looked down and gaped in shock. It… it was the Justman Hammer, the Hammer of Justice. The famous Hammer that was supposedly the one that had struck down Marlon Gardener, who had attempted to invade the south and east Riverlands. He stared at the artifact in awe and picked it up, searching. And then, he found the pedestal.

The writing was in the Common Language, but not recent - quite old. ' _For ninety years hence, the Tully in Rivers-Run has held the mighty hammer of the Justmans, transferred down frome the Female line. Since Marra Justman's marriage to Arlan Tully, with the fall of The Justmans the hammer has passed down, and hidden away, until the Worthee One shalt find it, where he hence shall wield the Hammer and unite the Riverlands._

He looked at the hammer, it was a, oh, four and a half foot mighty thing, a larger blunt side and a spike on the back. It was not molded or rusted or corroded. It seemed to be white and shiny and beautiful. It had power coursing through it, but he wondered why it had chosen _him._

"Lord Tully. So, you found it?" He turned, and gaped.

 _ **A/n**_ **there's the chapter! It took me a while - school and all, but i did it. I think i need a beta… Rate and Review!**


	3. King

Chapter 3

There he was. He was a guard, but he held himself in a strange way. "The ways of old are being forgotten, Lord Tully. But I have a feeling you will be capable of wielding the Hammer of Justice and uniting the Riverlands under a common banner." He grinned, his face seemed old, even though he was young. Then he disappeared. He gaped at where the man had once stood. "Father Above, I think I am seeing things." He shook his head and grabbed the hammer a little tighter. He made his way up the tower and placed the Hammer on the wall, thinking.

The seven bannermen of House Tully, as well as his Castellan and Master at Arms, had all gathered in the small room, where the Riverlands and small bits of the surrounding areas were mapped. His bannermen chattered and guffawed and generally made merry before the meeting. He cleared his throat, and lords Tumble and Paddlewey quieted immediately, while the other seven took a few moments. "You may be wondering why I have gathered you here, so urgently. My reason, is this." He pulled the Hammer of Justice from the cloth he had been keeping it in.

Eight of the nine gasped. Lord Marten didn't, but that was admissable - he was a dullard, after all. A few of them swore under their breaths, and Lord Tumble gasped and said, "The Hammer…" They all turned to him and kneeled. " _The King of Rivers and Hills has returned!"_ They cried and called to him, praising him. He held up his hand for silence and addressed all present.

"The time is come for the Riverlands to be united under a Riverlander King." They all nodded their heads in agreement. "But first we must cast the shackles of the Ironborn Kings from our people. We must send word with our most trusted men to lords Vance of Atranta and Wayfarer's Rest, Piper, Mooton, Bracken, Ryger, Mallister, Darry, and Frey." The bannermen all muttered to each other for a few moments.

"Not Blackwood?" Called one of the bannermen, Lord Wyle perhaps.

He shook his head. "I mistrust them, and even if I didn't, they wouldn't fight alongside the Brackens." They all murmured at that and nodded. He called the meeting adjourned and all the bannermen made their way out after bowing to him. He held the Hammer up and studied it, the smooth curve between handle and head, the spike, even top spike. The metal was strange, white and pale as milkglass. He recalled the Daynes down south had a similar looking metal for the sword Dawn. Perhaps this was made from the iron of a meteor.

It had been perhaps three days since he had adjourned the meeting, and the drill yard was abuzz. Guards were hacking away at dummies, he had levied somewhere in the range of six hundred men from inns and the like looking for pay. They were no farmers, he needed the food, but they brought his forces up to seven hundred men. They were being trained heavily and prepared for the coming war. He had ordered his Blacksmiths and apprentices working hard as possible to forge the armor needed. The wages were only two silvers a day for the lot of them, but that was still seventy dr- wait, dragons didn't exist as a currency. Seventy of the newly minted hammers, that was it. Seventy hammers a day for his little army.

Paddleboats were coming in with the earliest harvests. He had taken his new Maester and asked him kindly to send messages to his bannermen with a new taxation form to get an accurate sense of the harvest that was shortly to come in. He would need all the food his men could get for the coming battles.

It had been a week, and his riders had come back with many responses. All had agreed to throw off the yoke of the Ironborn King. Combined, the Riverlands could levy perhaps forty five thousand - minus the six from the Ironborn and Blackwoods. Forty four versus twenty one. He grunted and sent back messages that in a fortnight from then they would all combine forces with nearby lords, and if they were lucky, they could attack the smaller stronghold of the Ironborn King without him raising the Ironborn. Lord Mallister would ensure that no Ironborn messengers or ravens reached the Iron Islands.

Lord Vance, Pyper, and Bracken would combine forces to attack Raventree Hall. It was a busy next two weeks - the tax forms and harvests came in, looking equitable, and the men were being armored. The seven hundred guards and volunteers as well as the household knights, freeriders, and many other men combined to bring his levy to three thousand.

Lords Vance, Pyper, and Bracken agreed and they met at a river, combining forces to bring up eleven thousand foot and one thousand horse. When they saw the Hammer of Justice, they discussed something before agreeing. They marched east as swift as possible to attack Raventree Hall, who had declared for the Ironborn.

It was night when they arrived. They were extremely quiet and kept no fires, for the attack was about to happen. He pulled up his horse and dismounted, placing the fish adorned helm on his head. He had on a hauberk and chainmail. His men sat restlessly in their chainmail armor, and the other lords gave signal they were ready. His sergeants called softly for a nock, draw, and loose, and suddenly the torches on the wall went flying off the ramparts. His men moved swiftly, tossing grapple hooks onto the crenels and climbing. The Blackwood men were mounting a defense on the west wall, but his archers on the wall took care of them, pricking them with arrows until they looked like black lumps with sticks pointing out.

The levies and guards were still trying to get their armor on in the barracks when his men entered, stabbing and hacking. He and a group of fifteen knights in chainmail, as well as Lord Bracken, entered the keep, the two guards at the door just lumps on the ground, blood pooling about.

He and his men went into the hall, moving silently and snuffing out torches as they went. They came upon a guard, and he tried to shout, but Elmar drove the spike into his head, penetrating his skull. He pulled the hammer back and they continued, entering the Lord's hall. They moved up the stairs and dispatched the guards at the door. They entered and awoke the Blackwood Lord and Lady. He was about to call for his guards to arrest them when Lord bracken pulled his sword from its sheath and cut them both down in his fury.

"Gods be good, man! You just hacked them down!" He cried, looking at Lord Bracken. "The feud has raged for years. We must wipe out the Blackwoods." He grunted at Lord Bracken's reply, and told his men to follow. They entered the children's bedchambers one by one, taking them and gathering them up. The men had begun to cheer outside, it was evident they had taken the castle.

He thought hard about how to rid the Blackwoods. The adult men were toe be killed, the women would join the silent sisters, the children would go to the septs and become Septons and Septas. Lord Bracken said he should just kill them, but he couldn't do that.

By morn, the children were being escorted away, the women off to the silent sisters, and the men executed. Raventree Hall was taken, the Blackwoods extinct. He and Lord Bracken had agreed to split the lands, the west to the Tully's and the east to the Brackens. Now was the more daunting task - the Ironborn stronghold at Fairmarket. Thankfully, the three armies would combine to siege Fairmarket.

Thus, the men set out after recuperating another night in the Hall. They made their way north and north, until they came upon Fairmarket. Three sides had been surrounded completely, with trebuchets and mangonels and catapults circling the area. But the south was lacking men. That was where they camped their men, and the siege went fully under way, with the trebuchets, mangonels, and catapults attacking the walls periodically all day, destroying the walls greatly. Scorpions and ballistae were firing fire bolts at the towers of the stronghold, and many of the men bedded down in the city after it was taken.

The stronghold was holding fast, until a breach in the wall was made by a particularly good trebuchet hit. Then, the men streamed inside, swarming the enemies and hacking down the pitiful guard of two thousand. They slaughtered the Hoare King and his son, Harren. Harren's brother had just recently gone off to the watch.

With them dead, the men began conferring to wonder who would be king after. Elmar had the strongest claim, having organized it and owning the Hammer of Justice. It took three weeks of arguing and much work, but he and his men agreed to crown him. The ceremony was swift.

They pulled their swords, kneels before him, and planted the swords into the ground, swearing fealty to him. Then, a blacksmith came forth with a crown of gold and silver, engravings of a fish and rivers marking the crown. He had entered Lord Tully of Riverrun and stood now King Elmar Tully, King of the Rivers and Hills, Protector of the Trident and Subsidiaries. He then began a series of orders to strengthen the Riverlands; charters making Fairmarket, Lord Harroway's Town, Saltpans, and Maidenpool cities.

He granted the Brackens half the Blackwood lands and the new house, the Tully's of Riverrun - a title now held by his brother, Ellard, the other half. He ordered the construction of a stronghold where Harrenhal would have stood, which would allow Hearth and home to travellers, and finally, with the new royal treasury secured, he ordered a new River Guard for his Stronghold. With these orders done, he sent all his lords home and prepared to move south to where the starts of his new Stronghold was. He thought long and hard on the name.

The River's Hold.

It had been three months. The Riverlands was growing excellently under his control, and all was well. The Gardener King had sent a betrothal offer between Edmure and his daughter, Mella. He had accepted - he didn't want the Reach on his back. The River's Hold was progressing well, with timber, stone, glass, and other materials being shipped in. He had sent word to Braavos offering timber from the vast woods in the east for the gold. His plans were ambitious, but they needed money to fund them.

They agreed and he sent men to fell the trees, with the Lord of Saltpans getting a cut. The gold greatly assisted his efforts and the work continued to go well. The ironborn had been raiding the west, but Lord Mallister had driven them off. The Riverlands were extremely fertile, the people as well. With no internal conflicts and constant wars, population was booming. The tax forms were reporting well, and they allowed for good harvests. Population was starting to boom, going from five million to five million, three hundred thousand in a year. The River's Hold was completed, a stronghold of excellent size and defensibility. But he wanted expansion. The Storm Kings, who had fallen from their mighty hold, now were weakened after a war with Dorne and an attack from pirates. He considered the war but decided against it. He didn't want wasted lives.

He realized he wasn't technologically changing much - which would probably be mostly for the best. But - he did consider two things. Four crop rotation and steel plows would increase the fertility of the Riverlands, and so he set his men to work, turning spare swords into plowshares.

Two years had passed since his coronation. Edmure was thirteen now, and his work was proving even more excellent. In the second year, trade, population, and wealth had increased vastly in the Riverlands. The cities had grown to some two hundred thousand to one hundred thousand, and the farms were producing well. He had much more wealth now, and he finally decided it was time for war.

He hired anyone who was single, without any children, and willing. He amassed seventeen thousand of these men after scouring about. Then he set to work with the miners, amassing steel and arming these men. They were trained heavily by his guards, and eventually he had a competent force, though they were costing thirty four hundred dragons a day, that wasn't a worry. His treasury was extremely full from the last years work, and he got ready. His men were ready. It was time. He would take the southern Royal Demesne from the books. He declared war and began the march south with all his mean, gleaming in their armor, pikes and banners flying in the air.

They had marched thirty days on and off, and had reached the blackwater rush. A small fleet of poleboats brought them across, and they were now officially on Durrandon land. His men let out a ragged cheer, before they packed up the supplies the poleboats had brought them. It was time to march.

The march was long, but they found a host of eight thousand men waiting for them on a hill. His men arrayed themselves in formation, Sergeants calling out orders. A hail of arrows hit the enemy, bodkins and broadheads flying through air and piercing the enemies. The arrows had been placed in the dirt so the men could grab them as quick as possible to fire, and the arrows had dirt all over them. If they didn't die of the wound, it would fester.

The arrow hail from both sides ended after a time and then the men charged to meet the levy of peasents armed with naught but spears. It was over swiftly, though the three Lords he met in battle tried to charge, the pikes had gathered together and cut them down. The host had fallen, and he had lost only two hundred sixteen men. It was a clear victory, and the Storm King's armies would only number seventeen thousand now.

 **A/N Another chapter! This one developed much of the storyline. It may seem the years are running fast, but this story will involve a dynastic succession sort of thing. Anyways, rate and review!**


	4. The Stormlander War

Chapter 4

He loved it. The march, the clanking of steel and the clatter of hooves on the ground, it was all grand. His men were marching hard to reach the three hills, where the Last Storm might occur forty eight years off. Better, his outriders had reported a storm to the east moving swiftly west. If they reached the three hills in time, he reasoned, the hills would be sufficiently muddy to prevent the Stormlander cavalry from a great assault - though his pikes would take care of it anyways, it was still helpful. He stroked his emerging beard then and idly rubbed the warhammers pommel.

He stopped the men for the night and examined the coming storm, the clouds on the far horizon being blocked by the mighty trees of the Stormwood. He gnawed idly at an apple, taking bites out of the flesh while he thought. He was about to remove his plate armor for the night when he heard the horn blow three long _ahooooooooo_ s from the underbelly of the camp. A calmor went up among the camp, as his men began to get into formation. The Stormlander army was attempting to surround them, so he sent four groups of freeriders and knights forth, smashing the groups of Stormlanders and allowing his men to form into a cohesive formation and begin firing from their bows. The enemy heavy cavalry charged forth, and he pulled his pikes to front in a mighty haste, the pikes forming a wall of bristling wood and steel that caught the horses and sent cavalry flying. The king, Arrec Durrandon himself, got up from his position on the ground and roared, unsheathing his broadsword and grabbing his shield and charging at Elmar. One of his bodyguards went to move in front of him, but he stopped him.

He moved forward and grabbed the Hammer of Justice, watching as the Storm King gave a swing. He dodged the swing, and gave a massive blow from the hammer, smashing in the mans breast plate and cracking quite a few ribs. He let out an oomph and cursed. He turned his head for a moment, saw an opening in the lines, and ran, grunting hard as he was in pain. Sadly, he didn't catch up in time, but he heard a whoop from his men as the left and quite a bit of the right was routed.

He joined the men, swinging the Hammer of Justice hard and smashing enemies in the head or the chest, ultimately giving them the sweet embrace of death. His men let out one more roar and attacked, smashing the enemy and routing much of them. His archers moved up and began to fire into the routing mass, killing quite a few. He looked around him and realized something wasn't right. Too few bodies, and too few routing… _shit,_ he thought and then he roared, "Pikes! Form circle!" it was too late, alas. The wave of heavy and light cavalry smashing into his mens side, and his freeriders and heavy cavalry were shortly behind, attacking the larger force. His pikes moved in and jabbed at the horses, but it was too late, unfortunately.

The cavalry was running off into the woods, and he cursed loudly. "Hit them with all you have, archers!" they fired with all they had, and they killed quite a few of them, but the mass of cavalry had routed. He cursed loudly and groaned, realizing that they would harry his supply lines if he didn't rid himself of them. Then he nodded his head. He called for lances for his horse, and he sent them off after the force, but he doubted they would be back soon. Thankfully he could call forth his men, and send them along the sea, but that would be harder.

He called his generals and asked for a body count. Twenty-three hundred on his side, six thousand on theirs, some seven hundred cavalry. The estimates put the remaining forces at some eight thousand four hundred men. He knew he had to draw out hte forces at Storm's End and the nearby areas onto favorable ground. Perhaps a fort or burning the forest? No, the forest was far too valuable. A fort would be right, then. He would gather his forces for the march indeed. One of his men came up and addressed him.

"Well, my lord, I looked over the body, and it was evidently not the Storm King himself, but a decoy. It is more clear now that he was sent to distract you until the cavalry could hit us hard." He nodded his head and grunted lightly, sighing then and ordering servants to draw a bath.

When he entered the steaming water he audibly sighed, his strained muscles starting to relax. He dropped himself down and relaxed, letting the water wash over him. He could hear the wind start to whistle and cursed. The storm would be on them shortly, perhaps ten hours at maximum. He cursed this and that and continued to soak for a time before exiting.

On the morrow, his men would march to the three hills and prepare for one of the last battles of this war, if all went well and his men worked in tandem to make it go well. Gods be good, that would be pleasant, things going to plan for once.

THey reached the three hills by midday, and he and his men were starting to get tired but he had his men set up the small fort on the hills, three triangles with platforms connected by walls. His men were stationed on the walls, while his off duty men rested. They were getting ready for the enemy attack as swift as possible. His men continuously worked and drilled over the day until the cry took up, calling out about attackers. He and his men cursed and donned their armor, hastily clipping buckles and strapping on plates. They climbed the stairwells up to the walls and waited for the first archer bombardments, with consistent and massive attacks on the enemies from the archers, crossbows and bows letting off great thrums as they fired, arrows protruding from men swiftly and taking down quite a few enemies. Then he roused the men, calling for attack.

They marched out from the hastily made gate, their plate armor and chainmail gleaming in the sun for just a few moments before a massive squall began, rain pouring down on the men and wind roaring in their ears like blood normally would. His men would hold themselves on the hill, pikes and swords at ready for any heavy cavalry charge. The men moved into position and waited for the heavy cavalry and light cavalry, but they weren't moving. Their archers peppered his men and then the heavy infantry and levies moved up the hill, pulling axes from their belts. The men pulled up shields just as the axes thunked into the shields.

Then the soldiers amassed marched up the hill roaring, stomping through the mud and trying to not get killed - which they were failing at quite extensively. The sky was dark now and his men could barely see, but he saw the swipe of a sword or a pike lashing out and almost immediately a body falling to the ground, sometimes gurgling or screaming in agony.

It was hell.

He moved forward with hammer in hand, swinging out at any shape in the dark past his men's lines and ultimately smashing in skulls or penetrating a breastplate and killing a heart. He started to get drenched in blood, though he was unsure whether it was his or the enemy's. He grunted when a spear slashed out, stabbing at his breastplate. He grabbed the peasant holding the stick with a burned end and smashed his head like a melon with his hammer. Then he held the spiked end out and lashed at a man on a horse, stabbing into the horse's head and hearing the horse scream before tumbling to the ground, the man cursing. He made out the stag's antlers and swung with his hammer, but it caught on the mans sword and rung off. He smashed his shield into the man and the swung again, hitting his leg and sweeping him onto the ground.

Then he smashed the spike right into his head and ripped off an antler, tossing it back into his lines. Then his men let out a whoop as the army began to try to retreat, getting caught in the back with arrows and lances and swords, killing a fair few. The storm was starting to let up by then, and he and his men roared in approval. Tomorrow, they would march on Storm's End and finishing the war. Then he remembered the antler, holding it up high next to a torch to show his men. They roared and jeered, and he felt a little woozy. He saw a cut on his arm and grunted, taking a boiling pitcher of wine and cauterizing the wound. He bit down hard on the strip of leather from a boot he had acquired. He wrapped up the wound with a bandage stumbled to his pavilion, wrestled out of his armor, and fell onto the bed, falling into a pained sleep.

They rode the next day, King Tully riding on one of the horses. He was still in quite heavy pain but he could make his way to the new battleground. He and his men would evidently march hard and make their way swiftly to Storm's End. Their soldiers were well on their way.

The march was longer than he would have liked, but he and his men marched swiftly and as hard as they could, making it easier. They arrived at Storm's End after a time and the men began to build Trebuchets, catapults, mangonels, ballistae, haybale launchers, the works. The soldiers were working hard, and sometimes archers would fire down arrows from above. The trebuchets were being made swiftly and once they were done later in the day - hastily assembled. Then his soldiers began to launch stones at the towers and walls. The Storm's End was heavily fortified, as implied, and the stones continuously pounded the walls.

It was nighttime then, and he was getting his men ready for the night assault. The soldiers took the grappling hooks and prepared, flinging them heavily up and latching onto the wall. The soldiers marched up the wall, and they attacked any men on the walls. The volunteers slaughtered any man they could find and men began attaching ladders or climbing up the grappling hooks, with a massive amount of men scaling up and then assaulting their enemies. They roared and held up swords, and they attacked the Storm's End garrison. But he saw how little the garrison was and how many still he had lost. If the castle had been at full garrison, he would have lost at least ten thousand men. He heard the roar of victory from them en and had his soldiers enter the keep, a force of ten men grappling up the keep and entering the King's Solar and bedroom.

They grabbed the new King and placed him in custody, forcing him to sign peace and cede land of the south crownlands to him and pay reparations. He and his men cheered and marched back north, returning home victors. He decreed a charter giving the remaining 11,000 men land from the newly gained area. The charter of twelve million acres allowed the newfound landed knights and soldiers one thousand, ninety acres as well as fifty heads of cattle and funds for a small keep. The current lords would become lord over these men.

 **A/N**

 **New chapter, new developments! The war is won and the charter is made, but all these new landed knights**


	5. Development

Chapter 5

The River's Hold - the castle itself, anyways, not the walls or curtain walls which were underway - was comfortable and cozy. The water from the underground spring could be drawn up for a bath quite quickly and the throne was looking quite good. He seated himself upon the throne, taking the crown of gold and silver with trouts inlaid. The first person waiting stepped forward, his well worn arms and scythe upon his belt showing him to be a farmer. "Your Grace, the new ploughs are great for farming, but with more and more coming in now good farmhands are losing their jobs. If something aint done they might get angry and attack these farms." He stroked the red beard of his for a few moments.

"Very well. I will deal with this shortly, you have my word on that." The farmer nodded his head and left quickly. The next man stepped forward about a hunting dispute in the Blackwater woods. He resolved that swiftly and as justly as possible. This went on for a few more people, small things like boundaries between farms on his demesne. They were also resolved.

A tall, stout man, barrel chested and strong armed with only a black apron covering his heavily haired chest stepped forward. "Milord. Er, yer Grace. My apprentices are all being taken by the new keeps down by the Blackwater wood. And if I don't get new ones soon my work will be slower." He nodded his head and thought about the farmer who had been there not four or five disputes ago. "With all these newly out of work farmhands, i believe they can be used to solve this problem of yours." The blacksmith nodded his head gratefully, uttered a thanks and a milord and left. He stroked his beard once more and returned to the matters at hand.

He had given the blacksmiths new apprentices, quite a few of them, but with farmhands still unemployed he was devising some new things. Much of it lay in the rivers of the Riverlands. He could build new smiths and mills along the rivers, allowing new blacksmiths, giving him more weaponry and armor while the mills would allow more bread for the smallfolk. He could use the farmhands to build these new mills and smithies, promote smiths from the east and allow more apprentices to be taken on. The mills would be manned by other folk the grinding of the wheat into flour would be handled by others. But one of his goals was to have a sort of Venetian Arsenal, or Braavos Arsenal of his own. If he could get ships built in a day protecting trade would become vastly more easy.

Of course, with new smiths and, if all went well, glassmakers and woodcarvers from the east, the Riverlands would be much more powerful and advanced. It would take time, but perhaps one day - wait. Aegon. Gods dammit, why hadn't he even considered Aegon? His invasion would start perhaps forty seven years off from now, and his kingdom could crumble. Perhaps… if he invaded Dragonstone? No, no that would be foolish. Balerion would be sixty now if his math was correct, more than old enough to destroy his fleet and army. How could he solve this?

He decided then to put that off his mind for now. He ordered the new mills and smithies built and sent word to the numerous villages that any strong man who was unemployed could work at a smithy or mill. Which would help greatly. If he was right, steel in the Riverlands would boom, allowing new weaponry and armor in the Riverlands.

He stroked his ever growing beard again in front of the pool of water he used for a mirror. He dipped his hand in the water and lathered his beard, then grabbed the knife from his right side and began to trim it down to a manageable level. He was nearly done when the servant entered, waiting him to finish. He always shaved himself instead of allowing servants to do it for him.

The servant cleaned up while he exited, smoothing his doublet. He entered his solar, pulling some pieces of parchment from a drawer, grabbing a quill and a fresh pot of ink before beginning to write the next acts, the first a charter for a town West of the River's Hold, the second promoting new small-time merchants and businesses by offering small loans for new merchants. He grabbed the nearby stick of wax, held it over a candle and let the wax drop onto these papers, taking his stamp and stamping the both of them. The first would be done swiftly, the second copied multiple times over and sent to the many towns and the few cities peppering the Riverlands.

Nine months of work had caused the final harvests before winter to prosper greatly, and the new mills and smithies were also well worth it. Overall, taxes had increased an astounding six percent on peasants and nobles alone, while tariff profits had increased twofold with the new deals with Braavos, the increased trade with Myr and Qohor for new smiths and glassmakers. The new glass influx and smiths had caused him to order the construction of new glass houses in the River's hold, like Winterfell. Many of the Riverlords had also followed this, and once they were complete people inside the castles could be fed fairly well during winter. He traced his finger along the reports, then turned and placed them in a drawer, locking it and leaving to hold court for the day. The last days of summer were always a flurry of activity and disputes.

He stroked his beard again, going over the lord's reports when his maester hurried in, looking quite… nervous? He couldn't tell. The maester spoke up, telling him that the White Raven had come. He ran his hand through his hair and looked out the stone window at the Glass Houses he had ordered. Some were complete but six of the ten were in varying states of progress. He grunted and waved the Maester away. He moved down into the Great Hall, taking his luncheon there, a simple bread and ham. He finished up and then allowed court, the peasants streaming in for the day, but he noted Lord Piper's brother there, looking very urgent, so he called him forth first. The man cleared his throat and stepped forward again. "My King… The Westerlanders have begun raiding my lands, sacking the food stores and leaving before I can meet them in battle." He grunted heavily. "I will call my army and levies." He sighed and stroked his beard.

 **A/N Short chapter! Sorry, but I want to enjoy my Thanksgiving. New developments and the like, exciting!**


	6. We Ride to Battle

**Chapter 6**

He sat before the Heart's Tree, musing. The Tree was young and spry, just four months old and patterned with light snow upon its branches - the last signs of an early fall. He heard the clash of live steel as the men drilled. The springs, and the tree, did give him a strange sense of comfort, he had to admit. Thoughts began to wander, and he returned to naught but a fortnight and a half ago. He had called forth his banners and assembled the knightly army he had assembled before, but it would be at least a fortnight and a half before the full army was assembled, minus the lord's Vance and Piper. Who had been charged with keeping the Westermen at bay until the men could arrive. He sat up then, from his slouching pose, and mindlessly rubbed his beard. He picked up his longsword he had taken to using, and noting the nicks and rust, grunted. This war was much more even than the Stormlander War, and if he lost the Hammer, his family would lose all credibility. He dipped the sword into the sand bag and closed the top, beginning the process of scouring the sword clean.

After a good few minutes, he took the sword out, appraised it, and then put it in the scabbard. He looped it into his belt - which complemented his dark red and blue doublet with accents of white. He got up, gave a cursory glance to the tree, and exited. He couldn't shake the feeling of eyes, boring into the back of his head.

With the preparations nigh complete, and the last of the men beginning to stream into the camp around the River's Hold, bringing up the count to five and thirty thousand, with quite a good bit professional men at arms or knights. He had as many as possible armed with fairly good steel. He had the number advantage, but… his men were still not as well armed… and he had less experienced generals, if the word in the west he had gotten was correct. He had to admit that the prospects were quite equal. He gathered the lords together for the final feast before they set off. The night was somber, with little laughter or chat. The next day, the great camp disassembled and the men began to march.

Nineteen days of march later, they reached the western border and found a good many villages alight. Then, their third day of march through that wasteland, they found the Lord Vance and Piper with just seven hundred of the three thousand men they had been left with. "Five thousand came and attacked, burning many of the villages in the night. When we went to investigate, they ambushed us at Fordley village and slaughtered a good many of my lads. We killed as many as we could, but for the three and twenty hundred we lost they lost only seven hundred." Lord Piper quieted down and turned to Lord Vance, who was consulting a map. He pointed out where the outriders had last seen the Lannister host, marching southwest, evidently towards a river near the border, where, if his information was right, the Lannister Host was marching to meet with them. He posited that, since the Lannister host was perhaps two days away, if they attacked fully with their cavalry might, they could take out five thousand of the enemy. He put his most experience commander on the infantrymen, Lord Blackwood would take the infantrymen and move them south, to assist when the situation was ripe.

He sat upon his horse, nibbling a biscuit lightly drizzled with a fine Honeyhill honey. They had stopped for a short while to water the horses and rest, grab a bite to eat and drain the weasel. He finished up the biscuit and grunted, turning to Lord Albart and nodding his head. He shouted out to the men, letting them know the break was up. The outriders reported back, letting him know the Lannister host was some six hours march off. They were so close, he could taste the prize. The men returned to their horses, remounting and putting away their provisions. They continued their ride in relative silence, except for the clatter of hooves on the occasional rock. They galloped hard and swiftly and were rewarded with the sight of the Lannister forces… they were camped, the defenses lighter than they should have been. He attributed it to the fact that all the Lannister scouting parties had been eliminated. He waited for his men to gather at the treeline and then pulled up the great horn, banded in gold and inlaid with seven rubies. He wet his lips a couple of times, drew in a mighty breath, and put the horn to his mouth. _AHOOOOOOooooooooooo, AHOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooo, AHOOOOOOOooooo_ and then there was a roar and his men charged, with him waiting a few moments.

He couldn't help but smile sardonically at the situation. _History does repeat itself,_ he thought. Then he clasped the satchel the horn had been in closed, and grabbed his lance from the ground. He charged with a mighty roar, as the human wave crashed into the camp. The force was being slaughtered left and right, one moment a man was trying to plant his pike in the ground, the next a lance protruded from his skull. Another was freeing his sword fromm his scabbard and then suddenly his skull was split and an axe licked upwards. Then he looked back to his lance and saw it splinter into a thousand pieces, spearing through a lord with an orange seven pointed star upon his surcoat. He dropped the remainder of the lance and grunted, pulling his sword from the scabbard. Then he hacked at the next man he saw.

 _Arnol Reed_

He sat quietly in the marsh, feeling the wet leaves shift underneath him as he moved. The crannogman beckoned to the others, the twenty assembled moving silently in the leaves. They spotted the two towers flying proudly and heard the lumberers before they saw them. The men were cutting through the marsh as best they could, hacking and sawing away at trees and draining the water. He turned to his compatriots and nodded, and they pulled the pipes up to their lips, firing.

The grunt was instantaneous, and a cry of 'Crannogmen' went up, the men sprinting for cover. Many of the lumberers already hit had fallen to the ground, dead or dying. He smirked and they gathered up the tools, where they would be buried some-place nearby.

The battle won, the soldiers took up a cheer, the wounded being cared for and the dead counted. The report came back with some nine hundred cavalry dead (of three and a half thousand) and four thousand, six hundred dead, with four hundred managing to escape. The men let out another cheer, this one a cheer of ' _Tully! River's Hold!'_ then, they patched up the wounded as well as they could and slung them on horses, riding shortly east to the foot's camp. There they would find refuge and reinforcements. He pulled another biscuit from the pouch and took the small pot of honey from his pouch, lightly smoothing it upon the biscuit. Then he took a bite, finishing up swiftly. Then, he called for ride.

They had been riding east two hours when they saw the Bracken banners and heard the horn behind them. The Lannister cavalry, who had been tailing them for the past hour and a half, had been nearly caught up with the wounded when they reached the camp. The pikes bristled out after they entered and the few Lannisters who had followed met their ends there. The men grumbled, knowing a battle was coming on the morrow. But he was merely relieved he had made it back with all the men he could. He grunted and entered the command tent, where the lords he had left were assembled. When he entered, they all looked relieved. Then, he took his place at the head, and they ensued to have a debate about tactics. They agreed to build forts along the west as soon as possible.

The next morning he awoke sore, but he still put on his armor and strapped on sword and shield. He grabbed his helm as an afterthought and left the tent. His men were allowed to eat well, enjoy a fine fire on the particularly cold morning, and sleep in while the enemy host finished maneuvering over the river. His men were in good spirits while the Lannisters had evidently been marching for hours. He arrayed his men in formation and put forth pikes, preparing for the vanguard who smashed into the pikes the moment later and then were sent flying. The rest of the vanguard died swiftly, though they cut quite a good bit into his men. Then the longbows began to fire, six volleys which killed too many good pikemen and heavy infantry for his liking. The volleys stopped, evidently they were out of arrows. He then roared out, "Archers! KNOCK! DRAW! LOOSE!" sending a flurry of arrows into the air and causing them to land, breaking the cohesion of the charging enemies and allowing his heavy infantry to pull forward, meeting the enemies. The cavalry finished fighting, his force almost routed and with few left among them. The Lannister cavalry had at least been wiped out, but his cavalry would be of little to no use. He got off his horse after a few minutes of giving hoarse orders to the archers or blowing the horn.

He unsheathed his sword swiftly as possible and attacked, moving into the fray swiftly, attacking a couple of enemies and then pulling back. His troops started to cheer when the left began to rout and his left wheeled in on the center, and then it was over almost as soon as it started. He grinned and looked at the corpses, hoping to find a Lannister or two. He cursed then, remembering his folly with the Storm King. "Pikes! Move to the back!" He heard the clop of hooves and the reinforcing cavalry smashed into the back of the formation, his pikes moving as fast as possible and attacking the cavalry, but it was too late. He had lost maybe five thousand to the charge but the pikes were helping to block the enemy attack.

He wheeled on his foot just as a horseman charged at him, breaking through the bodyguards. He moved to pull up his shield too late and saw the mace coming right before it hit his shoulder hard, sending him flying and knocking him unconscious. The last thing he heard was a cheer.

 **A/N Ah, I couldn't help it! I had to write more. The first battles of this war are starting, and things are heating up with the North! Rate and review, and have a good thanksgiving!**


	7. Ironborn War

Chapter 7

Arrek Greyjoy

The salt sea air was fresh on his lungs, filling his very core with a deep sense of pride. He was taking the fourteen ships his father, the Iron King, had entrusted him with, and preparing to land at Gull's Ridge, a small ridge with a good beach where he could begin sacking nearby villages, drawing the Mallisters out of their hiding so that his father's vast fleet could stamp out the River Kingdom and return the Ironmen to their rightful throne of the Iron Islands and Riverlands. He grinned, rubbing the pommel of his handaxe for good luck, the inlaid ruby hopefully providing him with the fortune he needed. He heard one of his men bellow something and grinned, looking about. Faintly, in the distance, he saw sixteen Mallister galleys, sails blazoned with a silver colored eagle on a rich purple backdrop. The men grinned and hooted, pulling their axes from their belts or grabbing throwing axes from their places nearby.

Then, the hooting stopped, slowly and then all of a sudden. On the fore of each ship was a ballista, armed with a foul substance not oft encountered. The enemies lit the tips of each ballista bolt and then aimed. "Turn! Turn! Retreat!" That was the last cry of the Captain Crow on his starboard, moments before the bolt which burnt bright green smashing into the ship, setting it alight and killing a handful of Ironborn on the prow. The ship began to take in water, sinking it and spreading the foul substance. He attempted to call for a halt to the turning too late, the wildfire coating itself on the back of his ship. It was set alight, and he cursed hard. He turned, about to jump to the next longship, and he saw a scene of carnage. Ships set alight, burning hard, others sinking. He cursed hard and tried to jump onto one of the fleeing ships, but that one was too far. He had misjudged, and he fell off the port side of the ship, falling into the water, being pulled down, watching as his vision blurred slowly, seeing the mighty longships his people were so proud of burning hard. His last air starved thought was, _That green is so pretty…_ then he entered the halls of the Drowned God.

 _Elmar Tully_

He had awoken with a grunt and a groan. Elmar felt like a thousand daggers were piercing his shoulder, and he looked around, remembering what had happened when he was last conscious. Looking around in a frightened way, he relaxed at seeing the Tully banner flying proudly in the wind from the opening in the tent he was in. He tried to sit up and groaned when his shoulder stabbed into his spine with a white hot knife of pain. Grunting harder and biting hard into his lip, he sat up and looked around, searching for water. He found a wooden cup of it and gulped it down greedily, sucking up the last drops. Then a maester hurried in, saw he was awake, and ushered him to have some milk of the poppy. He drank the chalky substance, gagging a little, and then, when it kicked in, he fell back to sleep.

He awoke often in the next few days, searching for water or food or needing to piss. In the end, his arm healed enough for him to walk slowly without too much pain, at which point he decided it was for the best if he joined the war councils again. Many words could be used to describe Elmar, but among the foremost was stubborn.

The war was going… better, now. The equally matched foes were no longer, the Riverlords were the apparent strengthened men now. He grunted and stroked his beard, going over the maps. He had been mulling it over for a while now, trying to figure out where the best places for forts would be and how to defend them best. With the Westermen on the retreat, he had decided it was likely for the best if he offered peace to the Lion King, with winter fast approaching and harvests swiftly happening. The ravens had been sent four days ago. He placed small pins into the map of the Western Riverlands. They were at fords where the forts would go, to protect said shallow areas and keep watch.

The men manning the forts was an entirely different manner, however. The composition of the fort defenders would determine their success. Ultimately, Elmar decided it was for the best if the forts were manned by a new order of men. The best bowmen of the areas near the fort were to be drilled even more, preferably by an experienced commander. They, along with a force of fifty pikemen in each fort, would hold each ford in the event of an attack from the west. The Riverlands was the most central nation, only Dorne not bordering it. This was a blessing and a curse, unfortunately. In peace, trade would flourish greatly in the Riverlands, but in wartimes it was often attacked. So, after these first forts were complete and the winter over, he would build an extra one near the North, near the north of the Vale and the bloody gate, three on the fords of the Blackwater, and a final one south of the Stony Sept. Thirteen forts in total, the maintenance would be a trouble on the economy but in the end worth it to keep raiders out.

Elmar was brought out of his thoughts when a messenger ran up, holding two letters, unopened. One sealed with the two towers of the Freys and the other the white eagle of the Mallisters. He opened the Frey one first and grunted with dismay. The crannogmen had attacked his lumberers while they were working, killing a good many of them. Not wishing for another war so soon, with so few leviable men left and falls rains getting harsher, filling the battlefields with mud. So he did his best to diplomatically solve the situation, calling back the lumberers while giving his vassal, Lord Frey, a gift of gold to make up for the dead lumberers.

Then came the news of the first skirmish with the Ironborn. The entire enemy attack of fourteen longships had been burnt to a crisp, and Lord Mallister commended him for his idea to use wildfire, and requested some gold to strengthen the harbor defences and buy more wildfire. Wildfire was very hard to procure without a stable Alchemist's Guild, but he had remedied the situation by giving them a place in the town west of The River's Hold. He agreed and sent Lord Mallister the gold with a trusted messenger and returned to his work.

 _Quellon Drumm_

The boy hadn't returned ravens, though he was headstrong and foolish and likely just battling the Greenlanders. He grunted then, looking about. The suspicious lack of ships - well, not suspicious, he supposed, those greenlanders had likely been defeated by the boy. He grinned and tapped his kneecap for good luck, before grunting again and taking a sip of ale from the mug nearby. Those damned greenlanders drank their sweet drinks, but he and his lads were hardy Ironborn and not those damn flowery folk. He quaffed the rest of the ale and bellowed out, "The first lad who kills a greenlander gets a fine new sword!" The men grunted and cheered, and then the enemy galleys were on the horizon.

Twenty-four galleys were coming fast, but they were no match for the three hundred long ships. _These pathetic greenlanders can't even field a good fleet foru s to fight._ He grinned and pulled his axe from his belt and began bellowing out orders. He was cut short when a horn-blast came from the north. He turned and watched as thirty more war galleys came into view and cursed. He bgan bellowing out more orders, for his men to turn and face the two enemies. Then the first bolt hit. The ship two on the right went up in flames and the men jumped overboards, only to get coated in the sticky green substance and set alight, burning hard. The first bolt had hit hard, but they were not prepared for the next fifty six. The substance destroyed longships and got all over the other longships, ultimately crushing the resistance. When men turned to flee they got the wildfire all over their ships and burnt.

He ordered the remaining ships to charge; if they made it their soldiers could board the enemies. Then the final round of bolts hit and he and three other ships had been left remaining. He called for retreat only to have his ship hit with a bolt. He saw a single ship escape the fires, sand having been put on the flames. He cursed, struggling to get out of his armor, his movements becoming restricted and slower as oxygen left him. Then, he died.


	8. Westeros Ne'er Changes

Elmar sat in the woods, feeling the ebb and flow of the very sounds of nature. He could feel the earth beneath him on his toes. He sighed and grinned a little, enjoying one of the brief reprieves he was afforded these days. The weirwood tree, once comforting, felt like it glared at him often. He had taken to sitting in this small clearing, surrounded by crowded trees barely eking out an existence. The chitter of squirrels communicating and birds chirping was one of the few sounds he heard. Elmar felt an urge to hold the Hammer tightly in his hands then, and he acted upon his instinct. He felt something stir inside and he gripped tighter, his hands becoming pale.

Elmar sat in silence for a while, looking down at his hammer. It had a faint glow to it. Elmar got up with new resolve, and entered the Great Hall. He sat in the high seat and waited for a while. Elmar didn't know why, but he did. Then the messenger arrived. "Milord, word comes from Wessford, disgruntled peasants have risen up in the thousands and are attacking the fort and bridge. Master Wingarme requests help." Elmar nodded his head. "Your son also sends word from Godston, his castle is well underway and… his lady wife, she is pregnant, your Grace." Elmar sat there for a while, his face changing with emotions. "I'll call my household guards and the men-at-arms of the area. I cannot use too much food." Then Elmar got up, placing his crown upon his head and pulling on his gloves. He exited the doors and went into the yard, where the Master-at-Arms was drilling the guards. "Left, right, chop! Left right chop chop thrust!" Then he saw Elmar in the corner of his eye. Lewyn Forsley was a tall enough man, perhaps six foot four. His pale blonde hair fell down in ringlets and his face always had a look of indifference.

Elmar stood a good inch taller than him, however - remarked as perhaps the tallest Tully in the past 300 or so years. Lewyn still looked up at him, waiting for what he had to say. "Well, good morrow Your Grace. what brings you here?" Lewyn looked at him and tilted his head. "Call forth two thirds the household guard and all men-at-arms within 10 leagues. The peasants have risen at Westford. The Rangers, I fear, cannot hold them off. I want all the men at arms saddled up as well as the household guards. We ride on those revolters and deal with them swiftly, we'll be fine." Elmar looked at the yard of his men and nodded to himself, moving on to the stablemasters.

Ylandre grunted when he saw Elmar coming to them. "Well, Your Grace, good to see you up and about, especially after that Ironborn incursion… or was it the Lannisters? Oh, I forget. Any ways, what do you require?" Elmar paused for a moment, doing the math in his head. "I'll need you to find for me somewhere in the range of two thousand horses." Ylandre stopped what he was doing, turned to his king, and looked at him in shock. "I'm… I'm sorry, 2000? I… I can do that, Your Grace, but in the midst of winter it will take me perhaps a sennight or a fortnight. I'll need a good many funds. Six thousand trouts ought do. If you want them barded, Twenty thousand. Oh, also we'll need oats and barley for the horses. I'm no master of numbers, so you'll have to do the math there, but… 7 salmon for each horse, each week you keep them up and about." Elmar grunted at that in surprise. Twenty one thousand trouts, plus the cost of the men's wages and arms. He did some basic math in his head. This campaign, if it lasted two months, would be… 37,000 trouts. That was most of his remaining trouts for the year.

All in all, it took two weeks to saddle up and set off. The men trotted out from the gates and moved west hard, making good speed every day. It took only five days to reach where the battling was. It was evident from the camp that the force of Rangers was weaker but not dead. The Rangers lightened up when they saw them. They took up their bows and a chant swelled from the center to the exterior. Then a man called out that they were attempting to cross the bridge once more. His men at arms dismounted, since fighting upon a horse on the bridge would be effectively foolish. The Rangers got up on the walls, their Master calling out orders. The men at arms took up the position on the bridge, with twelve men abreast standing upon the makeshift blockade built by the Rangers. Barrels full of sand, chests, stakes, the whole nine yards was present. The front twelve men at arms had spears in hand and enough space to thrust them at the enemies, who advanced swiftly along the bridge. The Rangers let loose a hail of arrows, sending hundreds of peasants to their graves. Then the first line of peasants met the spears of the men at arms, and they began to thrust. Elmar stood back in the third line of men, his hammer ready. He watched the spears go in, out, stabbing and thrusting repeatedly. Then one man got killed. Another took his place, his spear attacking away. For every one of theirs lost, fifteen of the enemy lost their lives.

The day ended and night came, with spears licking out and stabbing away. Then his line moved forwards and took up the places of the dead. The peasants died in massive droves, and after a time they fled. The men let out a whoop and Elmar grinned to himself.

They took up the alarm quickly. A few hundred peasants attacked in the night, and foolishly died on the watchmen's spears. In the morning, the peasants had dispersed, moving west as swift as possible to a haven.

In the end, it didn't matter. Stormlander men had paddled up the Blackwater and attacked the River's Hold in the midst of the night, killing many and trapping his men in the citadel. Godston reinforcements were en route, but if they could not assist quickly River's Hold would fall.


	9. An End to the Story

Chapter 9

The rain poured down in droves, and once again Elmar cursed the early spring rains. They had brought nothing but misery to him and his men. The rain made the dirt roads a mess, so muddy it often sucked up men's boots. The horses got stuck often too, and he sighed angrily. Two weeks march and they were still three leagues away from the River's hold. He could see the campfires twinkling in the distance at night. His people, his household… gods, he felt himself foolish. Why had he summoned all his men? It must have been a trap, incited by the spiteful Stormlanders. Or perhaps the Westerlanders. He didn't know. He didn't care really, because his hatred for both was still there. As they slogged through muck and mud, he eyed the sides of the road warily. While they wouldn't attack outright, bandits did often prey these lands in times of war and could raid his rearguard if they grew strong enough, or worse, his smallfolk. He sighed and scratched at his stubble, waiting for the report from his outriders on the further situation of the battle. Of course, they would soon arrive to assault the enemies for better or worse. The men continued their march through the muck, leading their horses along at a steady enough pace. The horses had to be kept in good shape for the battle.

He trotted along, the castle in view. An enemy camp was on the horizon, surrounding the River's Hold. They sat out of view in the woods, mounting up and preparing for battled. His squire clasped the last strap in place on his sallet and he nodded his head. The boy gave him a nod and backed away. His own palfrey was a little back and he moved to mount up on it. Seeing that everyone was mounted up, he nodded to his hornblower. The man put the horn to his lips and blew a mighty blast that rumbled the earth. Moments later, he and his men charged, rumbling the earth further. Lances were couched, spears pointed, swords drawn. He held his lance couched in his shoulder and a shield in his left hand. He gauged the distance every few seconds. Twenty yards... ten... five... He could see the pallid white of their eyes... and their pikes. Hastily formed but still there, the pike formation moved back a bit with the force of the attack. His lance connected with one man's neck, and he was unsheathing his sword when a pike impaled his padded destrier's neck.

Wrenching free of the saddle, He landed on his feet, stumbled a few steps, and eyed down a man charging at him with his pike. He bated away the tip of the pike with his sword, embedding it in the wood of the pike and pulling the man towards him. Pulling the sword out of the pike he stabbed the man through the heart. He pulled his sword out and turned, spotting the arrow a moment too late. It embedded into his leg and he cried out in agony. Ripping the arrow out, he kept moving, killing a peasant who came running at him with a knife. He looked around to see his force dwindling. Certainly, he had expected casualties... but so many? He guessed mayhaps four hundred remained. Spotting a horse with a recently deceased rider, he hobbled over to it quickly and hopped on.

Another arrow impaled his shoulder and he roared in pain. Turning around, he urged the horse into a gallop. "Retreat! RETREAT!" He spotted maybe two hundred men getting away from the fight. He aimed the horse for Riverrun and grunted, passing out. ... He woke up in pain. His wounds were treated and he recognized Riverrun. His brother Ellard Entered a few minutes later. "Good. You are awake, and you are lying down. You will need to be lying down for the news I am about to tell you of." Ellard paused and took a drink from his up, seeming to think of his words. "You have been asleep for three days. First of all... The River's Hold fell. I've good news and bad. Your children were able to be spirited away here. But your Hammer was taken. You have lost the symbol of Legitimacy, and while you still have allies in the Vances, Freys, Mallisters, and of course the Tully's of Riverrun, your other vassals have retracted their support." Elmar sat in thought for a while. "Gather all the men you can. I will not have my kingdom fall without a fight. Gather the Rangers that can be spared." Ellard nodded his head, and Elmar felt pleased about that.

After a couple weeks the host gathered, some nine thousand four hundred men had gathered. This was it. They marched east with all haste.

Just North of the River's Hold, in the plains there, they faced off. Though the Stormlanders outnumbered them half again, he felt optimistic. Saddled up once more, he felt as though death loomed overhead. The warhorn boomed thrice and the men took up the charge. The infantry charged after the cavalry, while the mail fist of the cavalry smashed into the enemy force. His lance smashed a man's shield, knocking the man to the ground. An arrow flew and killed his horse again, and he cursed angrily. He wrenched free but it hurt his leg in the process. Landing on his feet and nearly tripping, he caught a man's blow on his shield and deflected it, bashing him away. He went for the killing blow when an arrow pierced his side.

Grunting, he hacked the man's neck open, panting. Another arrow caught him in his back. Turning, he put up his shield weakly. His men were pushing hard, the enemy right having fled. The enemy was dangerously close to breaking... He just had to make it another few minutes. Another man came at him, sword in the air recklessly. He put up his shield weakly and the man knocked it away. Putting up his sword, he blocked a couple of blows before a knight sprinted at him, mace in hand. He deflected the man-at-arms sword and dodged the mace swing, but when the next sword blow came his block was not as strong and the enemy pushed his sword away. Cursing, he stumbled for a moment under the onslaught and that was all it took. The man at arms was hit by an arrow and died, but that didn't stop the knight from smashing his mace into his arm and dislocating it. A sudden, cold explosion of pain sent shock waves through his body, and he stumbled to the ground. The knight stepped over him, pulling the sword away from him and aiming at his neck.

At the last moment his head burst open like an overripe watermelon and he saw a Riverlander with a morning-star in hand. The Riverlander moved to fight off an enemy soldier. The enemies began to flee, but he spotted the banner of the Durrandon prince at the head of a small part of men charging at him. A few of his own knights surged forward, finally free of the enemies they had been fighting. He got up in time to be met with the enemies charging at him.

His knights and the Prince's guards fought with fury. The Prince charged at him and he put up his sword. His arm was out of place and he could not fight well. The Prince hacked away his defenses and he tripped over again. He grabbed the Prince's leg, pulling him to the ground. He pulled himself on top of the prince and grabbed a rock. He smashed the rock downwards but his adversary rolled out of the way. The Prince grabbed his dagger and stabbed him in the stomach. He grunted and felt the blade pierce his skin again. He felt the blade pierce his chest again. The Prince was killed by a pike moments later. _Gods, I'm cold... cold on a spring day... he wanted to laugh but he hurt too much. A fellow encase in a shining thing stumbled over to him, said something that didn't make sense... Edmyn…_

 **A/N I didn't know how to end this properly. I felt like I needed to. I'm sure many of you will be mad about this ending, but… Well, it's something. I also edited Chapter 8.**


End file.
